I Expected Desert – Busride from Manali to Leh, India
Posted October 17, 2009 , comments closedI Expected Desert – Busride from Manali to Leh, India
I was as prepared for the journey from Manali to Leh, India, as my parents were for my birth. When I was born, they hadn’t had a baby shower, my mom hadn’t had Lamaze classes, and my dad was intoxicated from a Christmas party.
As I entered the jeep at two o’clock in the morning in sandals, see-through emerald Aladdin pants, and an onyx tank-top, the man who took my luggage said the seventeen-hour drive to Leh would probably be cold. I told him not to worry, I had the skin of the Hulk, and I’d manage.
If the man had just said the word “Snow,” I might have prepared myself as if I were climbing Mount Everest. However, I slipped off my sandals and fell asleep in the front seat of the jeep as content as Barbie.
I awoke three hours later to snowflakes ambushing my feet like the Japanese bombarded Pearl Harbor. I thought Leh was surrounded by desert. My uncovered toes resembled eggplants. Replacing my sandals was as productive as sleeping in a one-on-one meeting, which I have done.
I reconnaissanced the range and resolved that the driver’s window was open because he was using it to see the road. Solidified snow and withered windshield wipers obstructed his vision as effectively as a lion lying across the hood of the car.
In the seats behind me, two Aussies adorned in five layers of clothing were shivering like three-year-old baboons bathing in glacier water. The Brit’s lips were grapes and his body was as immovable as London. All I could detect of the two French was the blanket they had over their heads. The Israelis were incapable of speech but repeatedly paraded their fingers from a Nutella jar to their tongues.
The Traveler Jeep had no four-wheel-drive and our driver had no chains.
By leering through my window, the driver’s open window, and the frostbitten windshield, I gleaned that three feet of snow screened the road, we were one jeep in a caravan of four, and sheer cliffs surrounded us. To my left was an extreme incline and three feet from the right side of the road was the edge. I couldn’t conceive the ground. Apparently the driver was under the impression that proceeding through the Abominable Snowman’s land without any blizzard apparatus for vehicles was a good idea.
When he halted between two wooden shacks our driver departed without instruction. Anchored to our seats, we regarded each other with bewilderment paralleling my first experience with a banana.
As we emerged from our igloo, my feet submerged in snow like Britney Spears’ self-esteem after she shaved her head and attacked a paparazzo with an umbrella.
I scuttled with my fellow frozen sufferers to the nearest doorway and catapulted myself onto the nearest bench with the lithe of one who accidentally triggered a tyrannosaurus tranquilizer into their trachea. We were in a home that ostensibly converted into a restaurant during the day. Beds at night became seats in the day.
”Hypothermia,” the Brit moaned with tears in his eyes as he sat down, sounding more like a woman in labor than a trim twenty-two-year-old.
”Frostbite,” I replied as I felt feces festering.
When I requested a toilet location, I was told “Open.”
”Open” indicates that there is none. “Open” embodies wilderness. “Open” means you’re shit out of luck.
As I contemplated whether I could prolong the inevitable excrement another four hours when I surmised our next stop might be, one of the Israelis entered with a smile and a pair of yak wool socks in his hand.
Without words, the Aussies and I dashed out the door, through the snow, and across the street to the only other shelter in eyesight. The Brit hobbled in and railed rupees at the proprietor as we completed our purchases. He didn’t speak. I put on the socks with Michael Phelps speed and we clumped back to our chai.
Forty-five minutes later we still hadn’t seen our driver. He had been spurring through snow and reeling roads for ten hours. We concluded he must be sleeping. After four rounds of chai and an hour and a half he reappeared like the grim reaper. He nodded towards the jeep and trudged off.
As the Aussies, French, Israelis, and Brit filed past me the excrement congregated in my body, threatening to blaze like the Big Bang. I bound behind the building to find sheets of snow and no barriers to bend behind. Panicking like a schitzo as my anus leaked liquid waste, I lowered my loose, transparent Aladdin pants and perched near a concrete step.
Poop projected from my ass with the force of a sperm whale’s ejaculation. I couldn’t cease the deluge any more than I could speak Mandarin, interpret Arabic, and dream in Japanese simultaneously. I sighed with the contentment I would convey should I scrutinize a hot air balloon in the shape of a penis. I looked around for toilet paper. I distinguished with dismay that I was on the back deck of the house. There was snow and a leaf stack, and my hippopotamus-sized stool sat three steps from the backdoor. The jeep’s honk honed in my ears. I launched some leaves over my discharge, stoned some snow into my posterior, and duck-waddled to the jeep, my socked feet shoved into my sandals and cold creeping through my bottom.
Ten minutes later I observed discoloration on my right pant leg. I had excreta on my pants and sandals, melted snow in my underwear, and wore a tank-top in a snowstorm.
Our caravan continued with the persistence of telemarketers. The two-wheel-drive Traveler Jeeps persevered through the three-foot snow until they slid from the road like vehicles on ice skates. Once the glide generated, the automobile reversed until the wheels wedded with the snow-covered concrete cleared minutes before. The three vehicles trailing reversed in a four-car retreat that resembled ducks doddering backwards.
One man materialized like Harry Potter and with a Neanderthal shovel, spaded the snow from the path until the jeep found a foothold. The jeep drove for six feet before spilling from the street again. Harry Potter would reappear, shovel and disappear, only to manifest five minutes later. His shovel doubled the prized possession of a caveman and looked like the metal had been fastened to the wooden shaft with string. In two hours we progressed two hundred meters. The Indians were apparently under the impression that a bulldozer and chains were unnecessary. Our passage over the 16,020 foot Baralacha Pass made as much sense as Sylvester Stallone naming his son Sage Moonblood.
Although my sheer pants provided as much warmth as an icicle, I adjudicated that as I wasn’t afflicted with explosive diarrhea or barking bloody feces, I was as happy as an orphan adopted by Oprah Winfrey. The other passengers didn’t share my enthusiasm.
The French remained immersed in their blanket, the Brit was reduced to an infantile state, and the Aussies were so assured of our impending death that one of them deemed it logical to smoke a joint in the snow to tranquilize himself into a soothed state. Instead, as we skidded over the snow towards the edge of the cliff, he assumed the cracked character of one with Paranoid Personality Disorder.
When our driver desisted driving at eight o’clock at night, I asked what was happening. Earlier, while we had sat like perplexed dung beetles, he had exited the vehicle for twenty minutes to have a conversation and for ten minutes to relieve himself. He replied that we were staying the night at the surrounding tent community.
”Excuse me, but can we please get our bags down from the roof? A few of us have sleeping bags,” the French female requested.
”Ya, I actually have a shirt with sleeves in my bag,” I said.
”No, bags stay on roof,” he said and then stalked off like Hitler.
The Brit cried.
We crept into what looked like a circus tent to discover a stove and sleeping areas.
“Blanket,” the Brit said and thrust money at the owner. He burrito-wrapped himself and then pronounced, “Chai,” between shivering lips. The rest of us relapsed in conversation while he curled into the fetal position.
The next day the snow shifted to desert and our progression was impeded by road blockades and detours instead of arctic conditions more suitable for polar bears than Westerners. Our journey, originally supposed to last seventeen hours, endured for thirty-two. We later learned that the pass closed as we were on it.
London’s Market Madness
Posted , comments closedAs some kinda twisted stroke of luck would have it, turns out that all this time I’ve been disdaining large public gatherings of people and especially in those unseemly dives round London, I’d been sitting on some kinda gold. Got the word on the intramanet that these things called markets, and London – well, it’s the hot spot that gots the lot.
London’s Columbia Road flower market
Now, I’m not like some kinda roving cheap taco joint with a bad kitchen hygiene policy that’s wiling to spill the beans anywhere, anytime, no mate. I’m all sewn up with the truth bagged inside and well, that was where it was going to stay, with my good selfy-self self (sorry feeling a bit childish there, haven’t had my piece of organic 70% cocoa dark chocolate today).
London’s markets, like a Christmas tree at a power station
But anyway, just the other day I saw something that broke my little blackened stone heart, a person, with no map, and a keen fashion sense now you come to mention it, wandering about, clearly in need of somaething to purchase, in an outdoor setting – and you know what? Theys were looking (sniff) Lost. Brought a tear to my little sun-cracked eye it did, all hardened by the coming and going of highways and outback byways, the endless nights alone, without a copy of the Financial Times, Afternoon edition, for a blanket.
Anyway, sorry Miss Jane, back from my little red-dirt spacewalk… Yeah, so I pulled out my mohair/llama poncho, whipped up a quick lo-fat frappachino and took their little sad hand and led them down to the first little Sunday market we came across. You should have seen their sweet little Japanese-cartoon-Manga-oversized eyes light up, like a Christmas tree at a power station.
So rather than keep up this pose of having a stone-hardened exterior, I thought, dear reader, I would take you too by the beret-wearing hand, and lead you merrily down the garden path to London market happiness. Hold your friends hand too, now there, and no wandering off…
London market trifecta
Rather than the slow lead-in with a mighty peak mid-story, just like in “Deliverance”, I thought we’d start at full-speed white-noise market intensity and see where it goes from there. The London mega-trifecta was what I had in mind: Columbia Rd Flower Markets, Brick Lane Sunday Markets and segue straight to Spitalfields, no chaser.
Synopsis: this is like Berlin’s Mauerpark Sunday Markets and Darwin’s Mindil Beach Sunset Markets (thought I would chuck in the random tropical reference as it boosts my urban appeal) combined. All that but like with the front lowered, the back jacked up and the stereo up loud, maybe with a miniature dog and a bit of “-on-crack” (the drug not the amply visible backside variety) thrown In for good measure (except possibly “miniature dog-on-crack” cos someone might get hurt or lose an ankle or something like that).
If you’re making your way down from Hackney, Shoreditch or Dalston, then the first, Columbia Rd, is best left for last, for reasons that will become more obvious in a bit, so cut round the back and make for the shambolic Brick Lane Sunday experience.
Brick Lane Market
This is the ideal place for the discerning shopper who can’t decide if they want quality or some piece of crud that some other fella doesn’t want cos its squeezing something else out of their burgeoning pointy shoe collection. Some are so confident of the quality of their merchandise that they don’t even put a white sheet under the stuff in case a policeman comes round the corner and they need to run away, cos you can then tell that this stuff is staying put on the footpath until it’s all sold, sold, sold.
Brick Lane, pret a porter
The diversity of oddness is half the appeal, slipping down a crowded street with fashionable cafes as a back drop, beigel (should that be bagel or beagle?) shops that sell smoked salmon and creamed cheese numbers for £1.30 (and a pasty for just 75p) – the cheapest snack you will see round here. There’s the odd diamond in the rough, a classic piece of design something or other, a record you can’t live without, something not-so-old but stylish but not priced as an antique, give it a go and enjoy the charm.
If you feel like queuing you can get into the Vintage Markets, too. The buskers here will probably have you in stitches, my highlight was the fella with the tiny amp and Hendrix-style Fender electric guitar with a snare/hi-hat on the right foot pedal and the tiny bassdrum on the left – havin’ a bit of trouble doing the playing and two foot drumming at the same time but full marks for balls-out Rock’n.
After you’ve headed down the ambling Brick Lane barrel of surprises and you’ll come out round Hard Wax, a totally serious old-style record shop – this is The Place to get that piece of vinyl you have been dribbling over or hard to find on import – the staff are friendly, know a truckload about music and they have got Loads of Stuff.
Out the door and then comes the grand challenge - first the outdoor section of this ‘n’ that food to eat, like a best- of of all the outdoor market fare world over, and then the indoor Spitalfields. Even if the possibility of working up to having a busy Sunday in London feels as easy for you as swimming against the weekly tide, then this is quietly one of the most intensively fast laid-back Sunday experiences you’ll get – a hundred different sets of speakers playing 20 types of drum ‘n’ bass, raga, reggae, and a verisimilitude of stuffness, all accompanied by shirts, clothes, bags, every kind of food you can imagine and a bunch of stuff more that wouldn’t fit into your head on a Sunday.
One guitar, two feet, three markets
For the short-sighted it’s a cavalcade of close-up delights that’ll have you head slowly swiveling all the way through. When you’re done, out past the food and back onto Brick Lane and up for some flowers.
Columbia Road Flower Market
If you’ve timed it right you’ll be getting up to Columbia Road round 2 or 3pm, the slightly tired fellas’ll be shouting “£6 for 1 or 2 for £10″ as you approach and you’ll know things are warming-up in the get-a-cheap-buncha-flowers stakes. As you work your way through the riot of colour the prices will start a droppin and the flowers will be ready for your shopping, the later it gets the prices will halve at least once and then maybe again. Its not eBay so get em while they’re hot, don’t wait til they wilt and then you’re set to get em home still smelling like a dream for the week.
For those with more power to ride, head round toward London Fields for the Broadway Markets – quite different and a bit more classy and spacious than Brick Lane or Spittafield - more the style of an open air deli. Mainly food and with the odd rack of vintage gear, you can get your organic half-latte megaccino with a twist of chorizo just in time to wake up and head down to London Fields for a beer, procured from the local off license, while you sit in the sun.
The range of drinkin’ the sun possibilities are pretty good as a matter of fact, and you could probably spare a pound or two for an organic cider for your decaffeinated miniature dachshund-cross-corgi, giving you more time to dodge the outdoor interpretative tai-chi classes or kids on new bikes that are so hot they practically scream “just stolen”. Enjoy the weekend and for a cheap price you can fall of the back off your own personal truck, and that’s no lie.
-Jack Brown
Planning a trip? Browse Viator’s London tours & things to do in London, including Weekend market & shopping tours.
15 Tips for Traveling with Kids
Posted , comments closedTraveling with little and big kids, ages five and up, can really be a hoot. Whether taking my 18-year-old niece on her first New York City trip or Burning Man festival, or planning a Crater Lake expedition with my 6-year-old stepdaughter, adapting my usual travel habits makes trips different and more enjoyable for me, too.
15 tips for staying sane, and having a blast, with kids
And of course I remember hundreds of long trips by car, plane, and train growing up with my family. I’ve managed to learn a few things along the way:
#1. Slow… down…
Young children operate on a time scale of their own. They like to explore, to linger, to tinker. Holidays are an excellent time to slow down your own pace—which, let’s face it, is probably a little dysfunctional anyway.
Even fast-moving older tweens and teens might want to take their time at certain stops. Give them some room to, say, flatiron their hair in a rest stop that happens to contain an electrical outlet, or pore over the Wii aisle when you stop to buy batteries. Instead of waiting in the car or standing there, tapping your foot, stretch out, walk around, and people-watch. Write in your journal, even if you’ve never kept a journal before. Slowing down is a gift to yourself, too.
#2. Make mixed itineraries
Approaching the decrepit age of 40, I realize that my travel style has changed over the years. A typical itinerary used to look something like this: “Ferry to Le Havre. Bring student pass; see where the trains go. Remember Rough Guide. Return in 2-3 weeks?” Or perhaps, “Dave coming to Dublin—hitchhike to County Donegal? Yeats?”
My haggard, middle-aged self gets a kick out of making itineraries and doing research, partly for my own amusement, and partly because even a loose itinerary can be fun and safe for family travel. I’m not sure I’d want a 7-year-old to sleep on the living room floor of a dodgy hostel-owner in Paris, like I did in my 20s. For specifics and destination suggestions, check out “Kids: Mixing Itineraries.”
#3. Plan ahead
Mom, the Boy Scouts, and Girl Scouts were right after all: “Be Prepared” is a fabulous motto for travel in general. With kids, it’s even more essential. They sniff out stress like dogs sniffing out fire hydrants. If you forgot Band-Aids or underwear, it’ll affect them along with annoying you.
Especially if you’re new to traveling with younger humans, make a list of everything you want to bring. Check off each item as you pack it. Show the child how you’re planning, or let them help (”Barry the stuffed-talking banana should be on the list!” “OK! Let’s write that down.”). It’s harder to go minimal when packing for kids; it can be done, though, if you plan ahead and make it clear to everyone that you’re not bringing the entire house with you.
Here’s one I learned from my own parents, the hard way: Don’t freak out at the last minute while packing the car or rushing through the airport. Your child will absorb the idea that going on trips means last-minute craziness and people snapping at each other. Take… your… time. Plan ahead. Breathe.
#4. Be flexible
Say your little one notices billboards for Dinosaur Adventure along the road and really, really wants to go. Listen to her request. “If you’re good and don’t whine or complain for the rest of the day, we’ll go to Dinosaur Adventure,” might be an apt reply. You’re giving her a choice in the matter. You may have to weather a meltdown if she doesn’t follow the rules; you can get through it, limits and rules intact.
In general, allow kids to make at least one decision every day. When they say, “I want to see the giraffes!” or “Can we climb that tree?” or “Let’s go to Burgerville!”, go with it sometimes. Or offer them the choice: “We can have a campfire and marshmallows, if we get to the campground early enough, or we can stop at Burgerville right now.” Let them put on their own CD or playlist on the car stereo for a while, however much Rihanna might irritate you.
#5. Be in the moment
This classic piece of Buddhist and New Age advice happens to work. It goes hand-in-hand with slowing down, giving your child choices, and actually listening to her. It’s hard to do this fully in everyday life, which is part of why people take off on romantic getaways. Remind yourself why you’re on this trip: to be with your family or otherwise spend time with a special child. Turn off your cell phone. Be here now.
#6. Get into nature
Even if you’re an uncomfortable newbie at camping or hiking, bone up on how to do it, and give it a shot. You may want to start with group trips or guided tours into splendid nature parks. Kids, even video game addicts, have an innate ability to connect with sensory experience; joining them on that experience may open your own wonderment and sense of vision.
In everyday life, many of us don’t touch or smell anything non-manmade, except perhaps food. What does a handful of dirt and leaves smell like? What does the bark of a tree feel like? Go camping and find out. Learn from how your kid interacts with nature. If they’re shy or frightened, take the lead and be an example. Note: it’s OK to be ignorant. Little David doesn’t need to think you’re a professional botanist. If he asks the name of a flower and you don’t know it? Try “Huh, I don’t know,” as an answer.
#7. Use familiar home routines
Does Anya usually get a bedtime story? Does Ruby eat toast every morning? Bring some comforting everyday routines on the road with you, since so much of what you’re all experiencing is new and different. If you’re not the child’s parent or guardian, try to spend some time babysitting or visiting the family overnight to prepare yourself.
#8. Make expectations clear
Before you head out, establish guidelines with all your travel partners. Will stepdad want some time alone, wandering the city? Will mom want to go fishing by herself? Will any adults be not-present, to take work calls or bring their laptop to a café? Does David have to bring his homework? Try not to disappoint your children or yourselves.
If extended family or visiting friends join in your travels, mom and her girlfriend might sneak off for a day trip of short overnight hotel stay nearby—even just a nice dinner out while grandma hangs with the kids. Talk or email about this with the friends you’re staying with in Sydney, or the grandma who’s joining you in Rome, long before you head out the door.
#9. Develop traditions
These will probably evolve organically, but travel traditions can be pointed out to kids. Some examples: Normally, you can’t drink soda pop—except on an airplane. In everyday life, lights out at 9:00, but you can stay up reading with a flashlight while we’re camping. Normally, no fast food—but we’ll stop at Subway on our way to the train station.
#10. Document differently
Sometimes we’re so determined to document every adorable instant of our vacations and every kid’s cutely cavorting caper that we forget to actually experience those moments. Ask any media theorist or art critic: viewing life through a lens distances us from the living moment. So leave the cameras at the hotel for one day. Enjoy your time to the fullest; if you find yourself thinking, “Ohhh, I wish we had a camera,” keep the thought to yourself. Capture part of the trip (or the hike, or the Experience Music Project visit) on video, but not all of it. Kids are already accustomed to photographing and digitizing everything. Their lives are like one long performance. Let your vacation be a surprising break from endless, constant documentation. Be selective about when to bust out with the camera.
#11. Give a travel allowance
Even younger children who don’t normally get an allowance can benefit from a travel allowance. Start with a small daily allowance for postcards, gift shop goodies, vending machine gumballs, and any other amusing, useless stuff your kid is likely to clamor for on the trip. Older kids should get a larger sum to dole out over the course of a week.
This not only reduces the amount of time you’ll spend debating the merits of a Space Needle alarm clock or a Maui T-shirt, but teaches kids about the value of money, the necessity of prioritizing one purchase over another, and maybe even how to save money over periods of time. (Note: this method will cease to be educational if you loan money against future birthday gifts, or if the kids spend their dough immediately and you give into their whining for more knickknacks.)
#12. Play musical chairs
Do you always sit in the front seat, child in back, your partner driving? Mix it up a little. Squish in the back seat with your kids for an hour; have your partner do the same while you drive. Trade seats on the plane or train. Especially if you’re traveling solo with the child, plan time for extra stops during long car trips; have milkshakes and play a round of Uno at a diner, or play tag on a rest-stop lawn.
#13. Take care of yourself
You need a vacation, too. You need to sleep. You need to eat well. You may need to chill out and stare at a wall. Do these things. Arrange in advance for your partner or other adult travelers to help you do this. If it’s just you and the kids, plan in advance for at least one activity that the kids will do without you: horseback riding classes, a ski class, or a trustworthy day care at the hotel. As we know from Chevy Chase movies and “Little Miss Sunshine,” shoving a family into a small space 24 hours a day isn’t always entertaining or even tolerable.
#14. Work in individual quality time
QT with each parent or adult, separately from the others, makes for special memories. Take a look at any imbalances in parenting, if you are a parent: who spends the most time with Zoe? Who’s usually stuck in the role of disciplinarian? Use this opportunity to break up the routine.
Consider establishing some of this at the beginning of the trip. “So, David, you’re going to spend some time with your dad while I get some alone time,” lets him know what to expect. Whether you’re taking your nephew on an overnight hike or your stepson on a two-week family vacation, be especially sensitive around step-parenting, divorce, and blended families.
Even completely separate trips can be magical. I’ll never forget the week my dad and I spent rafting the Rogue River, just the two of us. Deepening family ties doesn’t mean you have to travel ensemble 100% of the time.
#15. Foster an adventurous spirit
Tired? Timid? Try to stretch your imagination—without making too much of a fuss over it. Your kids will learn by watching you eat strange foods, work with unforeseen circumstances, or stop the car for an unplanned hike to a waterfall.
Find one thing that no one in your family has done before, and do it. Nearly everything is new to kids; shouldn’t we get on their level and learn something, too? Hopefully your ideas will come from your kids’ latest obsession or impulse (”Hey! Can we build a Snow Mummy?”). Or you could:
- Flyfish or deep-sea fish with a guide
- Ride on the Zipper at a roadside carnival
- Fry an egg on the hood of your car in the desert
- Take a short factory tour of some weird local business (just follow the billboards)
- Forage for wild mushrooms with a class or guide
- Ski, snowboard, surf, skate, snowshoe, wind surf
- Pet the goats at a creamery and sample the chèvre
- Find a new swimming hole with a rope swing
- Make mud angels, instead of snow angels
- Take tombstone rubbings in a pioneer cemetery
- Go rafting, inner tubing, sledding, horseback riding
-Tiffany Lee Brown
Planning a trip? Browse Viator’s things to do with kids, from New York City to Orlando to Los Angeles to San Franciso to London to Paris… and dozens of destinations in between.
Q&A with Lonely Planet’s Tony Wheeler
Posted , comments closedEditor’s Note: A few weeks ago we had the pleasure of catching up with Tony Wheeler, co-founder of Lonely Planet (along with his wife Maureen), at the Viator San Francisco office. Catch up on previous Viator blog posts about the sale of Lonely Planet to the BBC and the Travel Writer’s Dilemma.
If Tony Wheeler didn’t exist, we’d need to invent him. You’ll know Tony if you’ve ever hauled a backpack around the globe with only a fuzzy itinerary (Asia?? why not!) and a money belt stuffed full with everything except money. Along with shoes and toothbrush, the only other required piece of gear was the guidebook.
Inevitably it was a Lonely Planet guidebook.
Tony Wheeler is the co-founder of Lonely Planet (along with his wife, Maureen). Which makes Tony the godfather, granddaddy and don of travel. This is a man who’s set foot in nearly every country on the planet (Iraq? Check. North Korea? Check. East Timor? Check.) This is a man who knows travel.
Tony Wheeler in Afghanistan, at Christ-e-Sharif
His story is legendary. After arriving in Sydney in 1972, after a six month Asia overland trip from Europe, he had 27 cents left in his pockets. After numerous friends asked him for advice on making the same journey, he decided to publish a book. In 1973 Lonely Planet’s first title was published, Across Asia on the Cheap, documenting their trip from London to Australia. In 1975 they published their second title, South-East Asia on a Shoestring.
From those early guidebooks Lonely Planet grew into the world’s largest independent guidebook publisher - more than 500 titles in print, an award-winning website, a respected image library, television programming and video, more than 400 staff in Melbourne, London and Oakland (California). In 2007 the Wheelers sold a majority interest in Lonely Planet to BBC Worldwide, the commercial arm of the venerable BBC. Tony is still closely involved with the company. In 2009 he hit the road to film segments in Laos and Alaska with a crew from Lonely Planet TV.
Death of the guidebook? Premature
Viator: Is the guidebook dead? Or are reports of its death premature?
Tony Wheeler: The death of print is the wrong way to think of it. Print is everywhere. There are more words being published on paper than ever before. What’s changing is the guidebook - it’s not going to stay on paper for ever. It’s migrating to mobile phones, downloads (have a look at Lonely Planet’s pick-and-mix PDF downloads) and, of course, the internet. So the guidebook is definitely not dead.
Viator: So if the guidebook isn’t quite dead, what is the role of a printed guidebook in 2009?
Tony Wheeler: Think about a destination like Congo and Zaire and - the guidebook itself may be a little outdated - but the maps are helpful. And overall, there are not many guidebooks to Congo, so in that case a guidebook is invaluable.
Another example: Our Cycling in Italy title, it went out of print a few years ago. Now it’s being sold on ebay for $150 a copy. The reason? It’s the perfect format for cycling. You’re not going to duck into an internet cafe while you’re on a long-haul cycling trip. And it’s the same thing when you’re traveling off the grid. Guidebooks are wonderful back-ups. People have been predicting the death of guidebooks for many years, they’re wrong. People love books.
Tony in Iraq
Viator: Travel experts versus group wisdom - is the role of an official “author” still crucial? Or has user-generated content taken over?
Tony Wheeler: Even Zagat’s (which relies on user-submitted reviews) requires experts to pull everything together. Lonely Planet’s own Thorn Tree is another good example. There’s great depth of content on the Thorn Tree - right now a traveler is on the spot in Congo, in Libya, in Tibet, posting to the Thorn Tree - but still there are gaps.
Even if 500 people on TripAdvisor endorse something, it doesn’t mean that the quality hasn’t suffered recently. And that’s where guidebook authors come in. And then there’s Iraq and Afghanistan - only Lonely Planet is sending people there right now.
Viator: What surprises you nowadays about travel, in the way that people travel?
Tony Wheeler: Frankly I’m surprised that people show up in the oddest of places. I took a 4×4 to the most remote corner of Africa, and yet there was a couple traveling the same route by bicycle. Amazing. It’s hard to push the edges of travel now, especially in Europe. I’m also surprised how easy it is to travel now. People in the UK heading to Prague for the weekend, that sort of thing. Travel has maybe become too easy.
Viator:What’s on your travel agenda this year?
Tony Wheeler: I wrote a book called Badlands, about traveling to the so-called Axis of Evil (Iraq, North Korea, Iran). I credit the book to George W. Bush. I’ve always been interested in edgy countries and I’d been kicking around the idea of writing something about ‘pariah’ countries. When Mr. Bush produced his ‘Axis of Evil’ list, my first thought was “I’ve got to go there.” So the Evil Axis trio formed the core of my ‘Bad Lands’ and it was no trouble to come up with a half dozen other contenders.
Perhaps surprisingly, I had a great time in all my ‘Bad Lands’ and – apart from a little uneasiness in Afghanistan and Iraq – I was never particularly concerned for my safety. North Korea was easily the weirdest: a place alternating between horror and comedy, a Stalinist theme park, a gulag run by Monty Python.
I’d like to follow that up with a book about “Weird Lands”, countries that have fallen off the rails somehow. Think about Congo - it’s gone steadily backwards since 1958. Or Colombia, which has been ruined by America’s fight against drugs. Somalia, Haiti, there are many off-the-rail countries to choose from.
Viator: Would you share a few of your favorite travel experiences with us?
Tony Wheeler: Last year I visited the cosmonaut training center at Star City outside Moscow, then flew down to the Baikonur Cosmodrome in Kazakhstan. I had a close-up look at the Soyuz FG launcher the evening before the launch, met with Richard Garriott (game entrepreneur who paid USD $30 million for the ride) and his back up Nik Halick (they were behind glass, in quarantine) and stood at dawn to see the Soyuz crew (followed by an assortment of support crew which even included an orthodox priest). As interesting as the rocket launch was my fellow passengers – our little group of Richard Garriott supporters included Sergey Brin and Larry Page of Google, Peter Diamandis of the X Prize, Charles Simonyi, formerly of Microsoft and a 2007 space tourist, and assorted other space tourism followers.
Walking to the Soyuz bus, just before launch
I also have the Planet Wheeler Foundation to keep me busy. Our 2008 projects ranged from building a children’s clinic in Cambodia to funding medical training in Afghanistan. My favorite project in 2008 was the Melbourne Solar System. It’s a 1:1 billion scale model of our Solar System, starting with the Sun – a 1.4 metre diameter bronze orb that weighs 350kg (over 700 lbs). It’s on the waterfront bicycle path that runs along Melbourne’s bayside, starting at the St Kilda Marina. Jump on your bicycle and pedal west, you’ll come to Mercury in just 58 metres, Venus in 108 metres, the Earth (and our moon) in just 150 metres.
Cycling past Jupiter in Melbourne
The reality of course is that Earth is 150 million km from the Sun. After Mars the distances start to stretch. You’ll have pedaled 2.9 km from the Sun before you come to Uranus, at that one to one billion scale the reality is 2,900 million km. Keep going and you’ll have ridden out of St Kilda, past Middle Park and Albert Park and finally, the other side of Port Melbourne, you’ll come to tiny Pluto, 5.9 km from your solar starting point.
-Scott McNeely
Horrible History: Edinburgh’s Dark Past
Posted September 30, 2009 , comments closedOK, it’s confession time. I know that tourist boards want to promote the positive and – honestly – I really do love all the good things. But sometimes I just feel in need of something a little…darker.
Fortunately, we’re in Edinburgh. Now this is a city which has (it seems) more than its fair share of rogues and gruesome tales. So Simon and I take a deep breath and head up to the Royal Mile for the start of the Ghost Hunter tour (“A 5-Star Scare Factor”).
Edinburgh Castle At Night - Spooky!
The Royal Mile: Queensberry Rules
The Royal Mile is the heart of the Old Town, stretching from the Castle to Holyrood Park. Today it is home to the Law Courts, to shops and restaurants and (during August) to Festival venues. But back in 1707, it was the scene of the terrible tale of our first ghost.
The Royal Mile
On May 1st 1707, the Act of Union was signed, uniting the Parliaments of England and Scotland. In Scotland, the driving force behind the Act was James Douglas, 2nd Duke of Queensberry. Fêted in London, Queensberry was much less popular in Edinburgh.
But Queensberry had greater worries than unpopularity. Queensberry House, his mansion opposite Holyrood Park, held a dark secret. His heir, the young Marquess, was widely rumoured to be insane. He lived at Queensberry House under lock and key.
Legend has it that on the day that the Act was signed, the Marquess broke free from his rooms. He escaped into the kitchens and killed a young lad who worked there. Some Scottish critics described this act as “judgement on the Duke for his odious share in the Union”. The young boy’s ghost haunted Queensberry House and the buildings that replaced it.
What, even up to the 21st Century? Well, if any ghost haunts the site today, it may well be Queensberry himself turning in his grave. 300 years after the Union, in a neat twist of fate, the site is now occupied by the Scottish Parliament.
Wynding Down
Edinburgh Old Town isn’t just grand houses, royalty and aristocracy. Middle and working-class families lived here too, in the lanes and alleys (wynds) that lead off the Royal Mile. By the 18th Century, this was one of Europe’s most densely populated areas. The back streets were so narrow that the only way to build was up – as much as 14 storeys. People lived in very close quarters, and more than a few ghost stories emerged from these back streets.
Edinburgh Old Town
We are taken to Borthwick Close (because neighbouring Bell’s Wynd is “too haunted”). We hear a story of middle-class folk: a pair of lovers murdered in their bed by a jealous husband. The house was haunted by a pair of burning red eyes, but it was a decade before a curious neighbour discovered the bodies.
Borthwick Close is now restored and the buildings are clean and tidy. But the close is steep and narrow. In a space this small, there can still be few secrets. Even on a summer’s night, with sounds of street performers coming from the Royal Mile, the wynds are dark, damp and not a little spooky.
What Lies Beneath
We carry on down the cobbled streets towards the South Bridge, passing the über-hip Missoni Hotel on the way. The guide bravely leads us down a dark flight of steps into the Edinburgh Vaults. This is a cold, damp network of rooms, 4 storeys below ground level.
Once inside the vaults, there is no noise apart from the sound of our group and no light apart from that afforded by flickering candles. I’m a stalwart realist and even I think that this place is creepy!
Edinburgh Castle
The Vaults have an odd history. Dug out in the late 18th Century to support the new shopping centres on the South Bridge, they provided storage and workshops for the businesses above. But they flooded regularly and were abandoned by their legitimate occupants. It wasn’t long before they were occupied by a new set of people: the homeless, the destitute and the downright illegal. For nearly 100 years, the Vaults were a byword for horror. By the end of the 19th Century, they were sealed up and not rediscovered until the 1980s.
It isn’t too hard to imagine ghosts in these vaults. Our lady guide tells us tales of a few benign spirits: a young boy who appears to latch onto blonde women, a crouching figure by the entrance to one of the rooms.
The less benign ghouls are here too: the Hellfire Club, who used the Vaults as a location for gambling, drinking and other nefarious activities. Then there’s Mr Boots who follows groups around and has told many visitors to “GET OUT!”.
Oddly, for such a dark venue, photography is encouraged. As she explains:
“Unexpected things sometimes turn up in photographs”.
Tonight, I’m relieved to say that we have no appearances. Or so I think. When we leave the Vaults at the end of the tour, Simon turns to me and says:
“I’m sure I felt somebody blowing on the back of my neck when we were down there”.
Yikes.
Princes Street Gardens: Good and Evil
The next morning, we take a stroll through the neatly trimmed lawns and well-kept flower beds of the Princes Street Gardens. Princes Street is on one side, with shops and road works (soon to be a tram network, but don’t ask an Edinburgh resident about THAT unless you’ve got a spare hour). On the other side, cliffs rise straight up to the castle and the Old Town.
Firth of Forth and Fife
So are the gardens all that they seem? Well, not quite. They used to be home to the Nor’ Loch, a “filthy and offensive bog” which was a repository for rubbish, detritus and much, much worse.
17th Century Europe had something of a witch obsession. Witches were hunted down, tried and then burned at the stake. Edinburgh took its part in this witch hunt: potential candidates were subjected to trial by ducking in the Nor’ Loch and, if they floated, were found guilty and sentenced to death. If they drowned, they were found not guilty (but, obviously, were also dead).
A century passed, and the Nor’ Loch was drained as the area was converted to gardens. Hundreds of human bones were found –those poor unfortunate non-witches. By the 19th Century, Robert Louis Stephenson described the gardens as “full of girls and idle men, steeping themselves in sunshine”.
We stroll idly through the gardens ourselves, enjoying the sunshine. Then we walk up to St Andrew Square to the twin temples of the Royal Bank of Scotland (finance) and Harvey Nichols (retail). We carry on down towards Queen Street, admiring the views up to the Firth of Forth and the Kingdom of Fife. Now we’re walking amongst the neat Georgian terraces of Edinburgh New Town. Nothing untoward could possibly happen behind these tall front doors.
Could it?
-Louise Heal
Planning a trip to Edinburgh? Browse Viator’s Edinburgh Tours, Sightseeing & Things to do, from walking & biking tours to Loch Ness and Stirling Castle day trips from Edinburgh and more, or enjoy multi-day trips to the Scottish Highlands and Isle of Skye to further discover the beautiful countryside. Want more scary tours? Check our Edinburgh Dungeon and our Murder and Mystery Walking Tour of Edinburgh for further thrills. If you are a Dan Brown’s fan, our Da Vinci Code and Scottish Borders tour is for you!